He had a fancy for drawing up railway time-tables, and would
conduct an imaginary train from Chicago to New York with perfect
precision. He wrote childish verses, which sometimes attained the
unmerited honors of print. But this bright, gentle and studious
child sickened and died in February, 1862. His father was
profoundly moved by his death, though he gave no outward sign of
his trouble, but kept about his work, the same as ever. His
bereaved heart seemed afterwards to pour out its fulness on his
youngest child. 'Tad' was a merry, warm-blooded, kindly little
boy, perfectly lawless, and full of odd fancies and inventions,
the 'chartered libertine' of the Executive Mansion." He ran
constantly in and out of his father's office, interrupting his
gravest labors. Mr. Lincoln was never too busy to hear him, or to
answer his bright, rapid, imperfect speech, for he was not able
to speak plainly until he was nearly grown. "He would perch upon
his father's knee, and sometimes even on his shoulder, while the
most weighty conferences were going on. Sometimes, escaping from
the domestic authorities, he would take refuge in that sanctuary
for the whole evening, dropping to sleep at last on the floor,
when the President would pick him up, and carry him tenderly to
bed."
The letters and even the telegrams Mr. Lincoln sent his wife had
always a message for or about Tad.
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